


A World Away (From Me)

by LadyVader



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence - Pre-Thor (2011), Grammarly is my copilot, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki and Thor Are Not Related, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sort Of, fairytale AU, ish, pure fluff, threat of forced marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVader/pseuds/LadyVader
Summary: Odin embraces the delightful fairytale trope of forcing Thor to choose a spouse from amongst the gathered nobility over three nights of dancing and revelry. Loki embraces the opportunity to make Thor HIS.(aka the one where Odin throws a bride-finding ball for Thor because the author wanted the opportunity to rip off several of their favourite fairytales because the twitter prompt of 'arranged marriage' for thorkiweek4 was simply too much fun to ignore :P)
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 225





	A World Away (From Me)

**A World Away (From Me):**

Guilt wasn’t an emotion Loki usually experienced, generally far too delighted with the outcomes of his trickery to feel anything like regret, but watching Thor quietly slip away from the swirling masses made something snap behind his ribs.

He followed him at a slow pace, keeping to the shadows as Thor took himself far enough from the festivities that the hum of conversation and rich lilting music was nothing more than an echo on the breeze.

Thor stepped through an archway onto a balcony that overlooked the glory of the rainbow bridge glittering over the waves, his elbows propped atop the stone balustrade and Loki was struck by how very alone he appeared.

Fighting down the urge to go immediately to his side, Loki bit his lip, reminding himself that he was playing for a greater prize than a single moment’s comfort, a happy and united future laying just within his grasp if only he could hold his nerve.

_But Thor looked so very lost and alone, stood all by himself in the waning light…_

Loki shook himself, setting his teeth together as he hissed at his weakness, simply too inured to filling that empty space at Thor’s side to see him as anything but lacking without him.

He sighed, the urge to run to Thor as natural to him as was his millennia-long unspoken need to press kisses to the broad line of his shoulders, to taste that bright sunshine smile for himself.

He’d walked Asgard’s ancient halls every winter since he’d been old enough to send across the Bifrost by himself, had even been raised there as an infant until such time as Queen Frigga had been assured of his health and safety back on Jotunheim. Having been born at the end of quite the most savage war Jotunheim had ever undertaken (and _lost_ ) Loki had been small and weak, so much so that even in amongst all the carnage and casualties of war, the Allfather himself had taken one look at his undersized and unhappy form, and had sworn to protect him.

The scholars said it was a sign of Odin’s great benevolence and wisdom, but Frigga had told Loki that with Thor at home in Asgard, plump and hale and prone to screaming his lungs out at just the suspicion of hunger, it had struck Odin to the core to find this quietly whimpering, clearly underfed baby whose first inclination had been to smile at him.

There had also been murmurs of his shapeshifting powers emerging even then, a sign of his strong survival instincts as well as his seidr, but he’d only heard those whispers when the version of his rescue included his own Father casting him out to die, and Loki preferred to not dwell too long on those.

Laufey had been, by all reports, a war-hungry King, with designs on more than just Midgard, but Loki only remembered him as a quiet beaten down sort of man who watched his son leave every winter to be trained to use the casket Laufey himself could never hope to wield again. 

Loki’s mother and his uncle both claimed it was the shame of having pushed Jotunheim into a war it was still paying for, even as Loki worked with Asgard as much as he could to keep his people from famine, but his Father had dwindled over the years, seeming to reduce each spring that Loki returned, until one year he simply didn’t last the long winter.

_Died of humiliation_ , the guards had whispered, forgetting that Loki was not only small enough to stay concealed when he wished to spy but that he had been able to mask himself with seidr since he’d been knee-high to his Uncle Thrym. They’d said that the ignominy of Laufey’s sole heir being a runtling had been bad enough, but to watch him be trained to rule the realm by Odin himself and promised the casket upon his coronation should he be a good and obedient little Aesir imitator, had simply been too much.

Loki learned his world and his people from his uncle, who held the crown in trust for him, and from Odin, who guaranteed no usurper should rise to take it in the intervening centuries, and decided that he didn’t care about the truth of the matter.

Someday he would be King, he would restore Jotunheim to her former glory by way of the casket and he would be known as the saviour of his realm, and whether Odin had used him as a tool to shame Laufey wouldn’t matter, nor would the fact that his Father had cast him out to die. Jotunheim would prosper and take its place as the gleaming sapphire of the nine, as once it was, and no one would ever doubt him again.

The only problem -- aside from learning to discard any rumours (or even truths) that did nothing but hurt him -- was that Loki had found himself to be _greedy_.

It was no longer enough to excel where his Father thought he would fail, not enough to exceed even Odin’s expectations of him.

He wanted it all.

He wanted to be happy.

He wanted _Thor_.

Odin had planned for Loki to be raised and trained as sole master of the casket of ancient winter, wished for it to be as attuned to him as the star hammer was to Thor, both for Loki’s own sake and for the sake of their coming alliance. Odin had wanted to keep him on the straight and narrow by entwining the casket’s ownership to Loki’s ties to Asgard, an obedient satellite to Asgard’s golden son, the casket only free to leave Asgard in Loki’s hands the day that Thor, crowned as King, willed it so.

Thus had a literal lifelong relationship begun.

Loki came each winter to learn from Asgard’s scholars about all the ways his Father had failed his realm as a ruler, but also to solidify his bonds with Asgard’s crown prince, the boy who would someday make the choice whether Jotunheim -- or rather Loki -- could be trusted to have the casket restored to them without the fear of them immediately waging war against the weaker realms once more.

Loki’s mother said he must be respectful and remember that without the chance to befriend the young prince that they would likely have long fallen to ruin and starvation.

His uncle said that all he need do was agree with everything the King and Prince said and someday, if he felt ill-used at their hands, Loki would have the power restored to his people to avenge himself if he so wished.

Frigga said to not mind Thor, that he was simply a lonely child, and that he spent all year long waiting for it to be winter, for Loki’s arrival, and to please excuse his enthusiasm and wilfulness.

Odin had been waiting at the Bifrost, the first time Loki’s mother had felt him old enough to make the journey, his one good eye misty as he’d greeted Loki with a heavy hand upon his shoulder. There had been true warmth in his voice as he’d placed his other hand on Thor -- blond, and barely up to Odin’s chest, the same as Loki -- and told them both that had it not been for Farbauti’s love of her infant son that they might well have been brothers by then.

_Brothers_ , Thor had whispered, his first word to Loki as he gazed on him with gleaming eyes the colour of Loki’s skin. By the end of the day, Loki had wished so much and so hard that he _had_ been kept in this shining realm -- the brother to this golden boy who couldn’t help but reach for him with every word -- that he had shapeshifted into what would become his standard form on Asgard, _desperate_ to be kept.

They’d grown thick and fast ( _like weeds and thieves_ , Thor said once, blushing hotly when Frigga had laughed, and Loki had squirmed in his seat with delight) their friendship far more important than the distant call of the throne, and it had been with tears in his eyes and thunder rolling on the air behind him that Loki had first returned to Jotunheim, certain that -- despite his tantrums -- Thor would forget him.

Instead, Thor had become the most diligent of correspondents, sending painstakingly polite letters in an unsteady hand until such a thing became second nature to them both and they were communicating freely several times a month.

Loki’s ‘studies’ at Asgard quickly morphed into travels with Thor as they grew, and thanks to his ability to shift into Aesir form when needed, they no longer had to wait for winter to come to be together, each of them racing through their princely duties (in a distinctly undignified manner, or so Frigga teased them) so that they might be free all the sooner to face the realms together.

The centuries flew by, and Loki’s rooms in Asgard felt more his own than did his childhood quarters in Jotunheim, and whispers began to circulate that the heir to the throne didn’t care for his heritage as much as he did the _Realm Eternal_. 

Determined to only care for his own opinion (and maybe Frigga’s) in all things, this had nonetheless cut Loki to the quick and so Thor informed his parents he would be spending his summers in Jotunheim -- merely to observe the politics of another realm, of course.

Instead of finding himself universally loathed by a realm that still felt the sting of Asgard’s victory, Thor had been an almost instant hit. He was sent out to coax the algae to bloom, requested to join in on almost every hunt, and found himself generally adored by everyone.

It would have been sickening, had it not made something warm and sweet curl in the base of Loki’s gut each time that Thor smiled at him.

His uncle had been delighted with Thor and Loki’s seeming hold on him, certain that the casket would return to Jotunheim almost the very day that Thor was crowned, and Loki’s mother had liked him too, although Loki found it awkward, finding her watching him knowingly each time Thor made him laugh.

All too soon the obligations of their realms and positions had outgrown their youth, and Loki found that a season or two could fly by without seeing Thor, both of them adjusting to the duties they would each someday know as well as they knew themselves, the weight of the crown a mighty thing even before the time came for either of them to bear it.

Still, they retained their friendship, a bright, glorious comfort to each of them amongst the dullness of their many tasks, and as the centuries flew by and Thor’s coronation crept slowly closer, the only thorn in Loki’s side had been his jealousy of Thor’s time spent with his Aesir friends (a pointless irk on his part because Thor always returned to him, and loved him best, but then Loki had never really learned the value of _sharing_.)

They had worked through the occasional issue -- where Thor had been too hot-headed to even listen to Loki’s counsel, or where Loki had been too intent on proving himself to see that his trickery might offend his hosts -- and worked their brains down to hardened nubs, determined to each be worth the faith heaped upon them, when all of a sudden it seemed, Thor’s coming of age was upon them.

Thor was to be crowned after he turned fifteen hundred, but first, he was supposed to do a tour of the realms and Loki fought hard to be allowed to accompany him, each of them viewing it as a well-earned holiday for all they had each a vast amount of strategic socialising to perform.

It had never occurred to Loki, during this wonderful time together, that Thor was supposed to be searching for a possible spouse.

The trouble hadn’t really begun until they got back to Gladsheim and Odin had wanted to know the names of any particular suitors who needed to be invited to the upcoming celebrations. Loki’s blood had run cold, abruptly reminded of the Asgard’s practice of being betrothed before taking the throne.

Thor had put up quite the fight, helpfully masking Loki’s suddenly realigning values and goals, abruptly certain -- even as Thor roared that he would choose for himself in his own good time or he would choose no one at all -- that Loki must be the one Thor chose, or he might as well have been left out to die in the snow alone after all.

Part of Loki wanted to fling himself at Thor, to pin him down with seidr and trace letters against his skin that promised him eternal love and ecstasies unnumbered if only he had the good sense to recognise Loki as his other half, not his brother or his best friend, but his _everything_ as Thor had always been for him.

But he couldn’t.

Jotunheim’s future depended on Thor thinking Loki worthy of wielding the casket -- for all Thor had essentially promised it to him within their first century of meeting -- but if Thor found that he could not love Loki the way he wished he would, he might feel uncomfortable, unable to place his trust in one who had hidden a secret love for him for their entire friendship.

Loki might have fallen into a decline (or a murderous rage) had he not been stalking Asgard’s halls cloaked in his own seidr -- unwilling to display his grief to anyone until he could steel himself to bear Thor choosing another -- when he’d heard Frigga and Odin arguing.

“I tell you, he _will_ be betrothed by the day of his coronation even if I have to choose for the mutton-headed fool myself!” Odin’s stentorian declarations rang and bounced about the stone walls surrounding Frigga’s favoured garden, and Loki had clung to the column of an overlooking balustrade, as easily unnoticed as a shadow as he bit his lip in fear for both his own happiness as well as Thor’s.

Frigga sighed. “I appreciate what you’re saying my darling, but _our_ union was based in love, not duty, and I don’t know that I could bear to see him shackled to someone he does not care for any more than he can imagine it himself, not even for the good of the realm.”

Odin tutted loudly enough that Huginn and Muninn fluttered, unsettled, on a low wall nearby.

“You think I want that for him? _Ymir’s Balls_ , it’s not my fault the boy doesn’t have eyes in his head! Did I or did I not send him on a romantic tour of the realms with the explicit instruction that he do so with a mind for who he might see himself spending the rest of his days with, hm?”

Loki had seethed internally, having already resented every pretty princess or young lordling who’d cast themselves shamelessly before Thor, as they always had, but he’d never dreamt -- nor had Thor confessed! -- that Odin had sent him out specifically with the intention of finding a suitable spouse.

“One night of constant exposure to so many possible suitors might not be best, though, my dear. If you want him to marry for love as we did then throwing every eligible candidate before him all at once is far more likely to confuse Thor than it is to convince him.”

“Indeed, I had already thought on this -- we will announce a feast in Thor’s honour, lasting as long as the last full moon before he comes of age -- that will give him ample time to see what the other realms have to offer, as well as what lies right before his eyes.”

“And if after three days of celebrations he will still not choose?”

Odin had gazed upward, past where Loki hid in the shadows, his eye distant as he nodded decisively.

“Then I _will_ choose for him. I will not be cruel; I will only choose someone I know to be close to his heart, one who would benefit from our Kingdoms uniting to bring about a permanent peace.”

Loki’s heart had risen from his feet and into his throat with such speed and blazing hope that he’d staggered slightly, leaning against the cool stone as he tried to think past the rapid-fire hammering of his heart.

_It was him_.

It _had_ to be him.

Odin had spent his whole life grooming Loki to be a good ruler with Asgard’s affairs in mind just as much as Jotunheim’s, and Loki had a sudden moment of furious clarity, remembering Odin’s insistence that Thor and Loki be raised all but side by side, wondering if he’d been the back-up plan all along.

Clenching his fists, he’d swallowed down his rage, choosing to attain his vengeance by way of being known as _both_ realms most beloved monarch, so grateful for Odin’s ruthlessness that he didn’t even stop to question his own.

He couldn’t let Thor meet anyone he might possibly be open to marrying at the feast, not when Odin was apparently more than willing to do the dirty work for him for the supposed good of their realms.

Loki had begun perfecting his spellwork that very night.

He’d spent a great many pleasant hours wearing different forms, and -- for all he had a distinct preference for the fastest, flying creatures that inhabited the nine realms -- he knew precisely how to veil himself with whatever face and form best suited his purpose and, by the time the full moon rolled around, he had crafted a female form so lovely that he defied even the Watcher himself to see through her to him.

He kept his Aesir form’s ivory skin and green eyes, determined to stand apart from the Asgardian tendency towards warm, golden tones, and crafted everything to captivate Thor, from the scent of his female self’s hair, down to the flashing gemstones adorning his slippers.

Loki had made a point of strolling about Gladsheim in his natural form, letting both Thor and his steadily accumulating guests become used to his true blue skin again, a far cry from the gold and ebony temptress he’d planned to cast Thor’s way.

Asgard’s people gathered to celebrate their crown prince; many hoping just for a glimpse of whoever would be Thor’s future queen or consort, many simply there for the food and music, but all were there to watch with bated breath as each eligible noble from across the realms was announced.

Preferring to take the most dramatic route possible, to ensure that he had Thor’s full attention, Loki waited to make his entrance so long after the expected guests had all been announced, that the festivities had already begun, leaving him standing at the top of the entranceway and staring down the stairs to where Thor stood, frozen on the dancefloor, watching him.

It had been the work of nothing to let shades of himself drift about the room, one duplicate taking a drink in full sight of Thor as he talked to a Vanir lord, another laughing just at the periphery of Thor’s gaze as he twirled by, dancing with an Elvish princess that Loki knew to be an absolute bore.

It was, however, distinctly more difficult to make himself walk slowly down the stairs towards him, Loki’s green eyes holding Thor’s even as the crowd parted about him, moving serenely as though his ribcage hadn’t clenched into an agonised fist about his heart, desperate to ensnare Thor no matter how awful it felt.

Much to Loki’s triumph (and utter devastation) Thor had been only too willing to be ensnared, it seemed.

He’d gazed into Loki’s own eyes -- the same green they’d been since that first day when he’d shifted, desperate for Thor to keep him -- and Thor had been so eager to know his name that he had danced with Loki twice in a row despite basic etiquette and all prior claims to his hand.

Loki, of course, disappeared the moment Thor’s back was turned.

He’d stepped backwards into the crowd, smiling regretfully at Thor as his next partner stepped close to demand his attention, holding Thor’s eyes for just long enough to twist the knife, and then -- as Thor turned, taking his place for the dance -- Loki passed behind a pillar and simply let his Lady dissipate.

When Thor next looked (craning his head most inelegantly around his outraged partner), his mysterious inamorata had disappeared, and Loki had been far across the room, toasting his conquest (and drowning his sorrow.)

He’d actually felt quite triumphant (for all jealousy had twisted thickly at the core of him) as he’d watched Thor rake the crowd with his gaze, his eyes urgently seeking someone who was never truly there as he blithely ignored almost all who sought to attract him.

Oh, he’d been polite enough, of course. No man raised by Frigga would dare to be rude to a dance or conversation partner, but Thor’s mind had clearly wandered between words and smiles, and Loki had ended up really quite inebriated -- for him at least -- having had to disguise his glee behind long draughts from his goblet.

That sense of merriment -- mischief dancing in his veins, as he’d let Thor spin roughly into him, a faceless nobody as Thor had stepped away from his partner, and transformed into the object of his affections by the time they’d collided -- was long gone by the end of the second night.

Guilt rose to take its place, closely shadowed by sadness, as Thor’s eyes darted about the room, the smile he’d worn -- warm and so, _so_ inviting -- vanishing entirely as he’d realised that Loki had fled him again.

It had been quite the effort to slip away; Thor had first spun Loki about the floor before tucking him close and steering him towards the food, so that he would be forced to stay by his side, to eat and make a toast to him as Thor carefully pried his words free of him. He’d wanted to know Loki’s thoughts, _feelings_ and Loki hadn’t been able to help answering as he normally would (without his standard bite and teasing jabs or hopelessly wasted affection, of course) thrilling to Thor’s obvious delight as he hung off of Loki’s every word.

He’d waited just long enough, that time, that Thor had talked of introducing him to his parents and so, when Thor turned away -- foolishly releasing Loki’s hand as he craned to spot his mother in amongst the gathered nobles -- Loki had ducked behind the couple flirting next to them, and stepped away as a servant, collecting plates and glassware, taking them down to the kitchen, so he didn’t have to watch Thor’s initial search for him.

He’d returned in time to watch Thor leading a simpering Asgardian maid -- Tyr’s niece perhaps, she looked familiar (and insipid) -- out to dance, his smile perfectly polite, if stiff, and his eyes unbearably hurt.

Loki had needed quite a lot to drink that night as well, for all it had very little to do with glee that time.

Tonight -- the _last_ night -- had been the worst by far.

He’d approached Thor in his finest golden gown, his Lady all charm and allure and Thor had only stared at him for a moment before silently offering his arm, appearing more resigned than desperately enrapt.

Loki had tried to apologise, citing nervousness and a moment’s conviction that he could not possibly be good enough to deserve such attention from Thor, but Thor had simply sighed, smiling sadly as he drew Loki close for the dance.

“I don’t wish to be a game to you,” Thor had said quietly, a broad hand held wide at Loki’s waist even as his words drove a knife between his ribs, neatly leading Loki about the floor as Loki had gazed up into his eyes, appalled.

“I -- that is -- this is not _a game_ to me,” Loki had insisted quietly, his usual grace with words seemingly absent in this freshly crafted form, his throat tight, crammed full of apologies and reassurances he couldn’t let reach his lips as Thor seemed to look through him, clearly wounded even as he held Loki close.

“Please,” Loki’d said helplessly, entirely at odds with his plan, “I never meant for you to be upset, I just--”

Thor had come to a halt then, the other couples whirling past them agog with curiosity, as their Crown Prince stepped back from his partner only to lead her -- somewhat roughly, for all he’d been conscious of Loki’s skirts as they weaved in and out of the gathered revellers -- to stand just at the edge of the dance floor.

Loki had found himself with Thor before him and a flower-wreathed pillar at his back, effectively trapped as Thor stepped even closer, his expression oddly pleading.

“Please,” he’d ground out, his lightning-blue eyes burning into Loki, “just tell me what to do to win you, and I’ll do it. I cannot play the game if I do not know the rules.”

Familiar fury had ripped through Loki, overshadowing his assumed persona as injustice burned within his veins.

It wasn’t a game; it was his very _life_. His future, his realm, his happiness, his _everything_ depended on the outcome of this gambit.

“I told you, this is _not_ a game to me.” Loki hissed, unsure of how it translated onto the face of this new female form, as she had only ever been intended to look entrancing, watching in horror as ‘her’ words appeared to strike at the heart of Thor.

His composure cracking, Thor had deflated before his very eyes, seemingly sinking into the floor as he’d smiled brokenly at Loki, his eyes too wet for Loki to hold them as Thor stroked shaking fingers through his hair, tucking a long black tendril behind his ear with aching tenderness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, and Loki had wanted to fling himself at him, to cling to Thor and press kisses to his downturned lips and promise him every star in the sky if only he would smile at him again. 

But just then a roar of laughter had come from across the vast hall, and Thor had looked over his shoulder to where Volstagg stood with a tankard in each hand and a pretty girl upon each shoulder, and -- with a surge of guilt so powerful it had all but knocked him breathless -- Loki had faded into the shadows.

Now Loki watched as Thor sagged forward, his weight dropping onto his elbows, the sounds of the dance and eagerly gossiping crowds all left behind them as the man Loki hoped to spend the rest of his life stood on a lonely balcony, quietly imploding from misery.

Loki hadn’t planned to approach him yet, but he hadn’t wanted Thor to be stewing in his own misery either, and he found that one of those mattered to him a great deal more than the other.

Melting back into his true form, Loki walked slowly towards Thor, the moonlight bouncing off the gemstones stitched in intricate designs across his kjalta -- all in the same bright red of Thor’s cape, Thor’s colours rather than the green he had always favoured in his Asgardian form -- letting Thor hear the gentle pad of his bare feet upon the stone as he came to stand at his side.

“Are you alright?” He asked him gently, casually commiserating, not at all there because his heart was desperately hammering at his ribs, so eager to reach Thor that it felt like it might punch a hole straight through him.

Thor placed his palms against the stone and straightened, looking weary to his bones as he looked at Loki.

_I saw what happened. I’m sorry. It just wasn’t meant to be._

Loki meant to offer some gentle platitudes, to pour the balm of kindly brotherhood across Thor’s injured sensibilities. 

He smiled sympathetically as Thor turned towards him, any and all words he had planned simply slipping away as Thor seized his wrist, dragging Loki between the stone lip of the balustrade and Thor’s own solid form as he slammed their lips together. 

For a moment Loki didn’t know what to do bar seize at Thor in turn, steadying himself by the front of Thor’s dress armour even as he yelped in surprise. The sound was swallowed entirely by the press of Thor’s mouth to his, and he followed it with a soft hum of pleasure as -- boneless with delight and shock combined -- Thor crowded him back against the balcony wall.

Loki found himself clinging -- one hand still fisted in the front of Thor’s dress leathers, one hand thrown high about Thor’s neck to tangle in the bright cornsilk of his hair -- as he swayed with Thor, their lips barely parting for longer than the space of a breath until Thor pulled back, panting.

“I want no one but you, Loki,” He ground out, his lips brushing Loki’s with every word as Loki forced himself to listen and not keen at every touch. “I don’t know what it is you would have me do but _please--_ ” his voice cracked, his eyes despairing ad imploring all at once, “--don’t make me wed another, I love only _you_.”

“I -- I love you too _,”_ Loki choked, surprised out of his usual eloquence by the universe abruptly handing him the love of his life on a platter. “I’ve wanted to tell you -- for _so_ long -- but I… I _could_ not Thor, not without endangering the future of my people had you not felt the same way, I am so sorry.”

Thor dropped his forehead to Loki’s, his palms braced again atop the stone balustrade, his thick, strong arms caging Loki between them as he sighed, kissing Loki long and sweet before replying.

“I understand, I have always avoided making my interest known for fear that it would place you in the position of having to pretend to return those feelings out of obligation,” he kissed Loki again and groaned deep in his chest as Loki curled his tongue into Thor’s mouth, each of them moaning softly as they learned each other’s taste.

“Does _that_ \--” Loki grinned, fiercely triumphant as he separated their lips on a decidedly slick sound, “--feel anything like _obligation_ to you, my sweet oaf?”

Thor affected his most thick-headed and overly considering look -- the one he used to fool councilmembers foolish enough to judge him purely by his muscles -- and hummed thoughtfully against Loki’s skin as he turned to nip sharply at the sharp edge of Loki’s jaw.

“I’m not _entirely_ sure, and may yet require further convincing -- at least an entire night’s length -- that you are, in fact as hopelessly in love with me as I am with you.”

Narrowing his eyes, Loki growled and showed his teeth, playfully, light-headed with success he’d never hoped to achieve.

“Whoever said anything about _hopelessly_ , you conceited braggart?” 

He released his grip on Thor to run greedy fingertips across the glorious bulk of his torso, whilst his other hand steered Thor’s face to one side so that he could bite sharply at the thick line of Thor’s throat in turn before soothing it with long licks up its glorious breadth. “I’m just fond enough of you to shackle myself to your overinflated, ridiculous person to save some other fool the punishment of doing so.”

Thor grinned, savagely triumphant as his eyes gleamed in the sparkling light of the night sky. 

“No,” he corrected smugly, “You _love_ me. Hopelessly…” He kissed Loki quickly, “Desperately…” Loki groaned quietly as Thor paused to kiss him deeply before pulling back with an entirely self-satisfied smile, “ _Mutually_.”

Loki mock-glared at him again even as he pressed closer for another of those deep and drugging kisses. “What makes you so sure?”

He growled, petulant -- a child denied his new favourite toy -- as Thor pulled entirely free of him, his expression gravely serious even as his eyes twinkled at Loki in a way that reminded Loki rather horrifically of both of Thor’s esteemed parents.

He was swiftly shoving down that comparison with a shudder when Thor reached out to stroke a long, ebony tendril behind Loki’s ear. A sudden sense of déjà vu struck Loki with such intensity that, even as he gasped, he found himself unsurprised as Thor lifted a small emerald hair slide from Loki’s hair and into the light.

Loki stared at it, wondering how it was that he could possibly have given himself away, reaching up with shaking hands to take it from Thor’s gentle fingers, feeling the shiver of Frigga’s seidr all across its length.

“Mother told me Father intended to name you as my Betrothed and I couldn’t let that happen because it would forever seem to you that you had been Father’s choice for me, and not _my_ choice, my only dream for myself for all these years.”

Swallowing, Loki blinked away the heavy feel of tears building in his eyes as Thor’s lifted his hand to fold it around where Loki still clutched the small bauble, the emerald winking at him for just a moment before it disappeared between their clasped hands, proof that Thor had fought just as hard as Loki to keep them together.

“I’d been so afraid, Loki. First that you wouldn’t want me, or that you’d be forced into marrying me and never even know how much I _adore_ you,” Thor smiled tremulously as tears rushed back to Loki’s eyes as he beheld the sparkle of them in Thor’s own gaze. “Then, the first night of the ball arrived, and I looked up and saw you, all gold and green-eyes, and more beautiful than anyone else in the room.”

“H-how did you know it was me?” Loki asked, mildly irritated at such a worthy piece of spellwork being so transparent, even as he blushed at Thor’s obvious adoration as he beamed down at him.

“Who else could it possibly have been? No one else makes my heart stop just from a single look.” Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Thor pressed closer, lifting their joined hands to press fervent kisses to anywhere Loki’s blue skin shone beneath his, as he continued. “I wasn’t entirely certain that first night, but by the second I was convinced that nobody else could have those eyes and be so perfect for me but you. I knew you must have some plan for us, some way for us to be together, and if so, then there could be no other reason for you to go to such great lengths to make it so that I couldn’t possibly consider marriage to anyone else, unless you felt for me the way I’ve always felt for you.”

Thor’s smile went suddenly tight, an echo of his earlier hurt shining in his gaze.

“That’s why I was so confused when you ran from me each night. I told Mother that I thought my mysterious dance partner was you and she enchanted this hair slide so that I could identify you should you deny it.”

Loki swallowed hard, hating the shadow of doubt lurking over them despite his current position, crushed almost chest to chest against Thor, their intertwined hands trapped between them as Thor tilted closer, gazing hungrily at Loki’s lips.

“I’m sorry I ran. I thought only to force Odin’s hand so that you would never find out how desperately I’ve always wanted to belong to you.”

Thor sighed, long, loud and heavily, startling Loki as he gaped at Thor, who shook his head sadly. “How will I ever bear the shame?” He asked mournfully, his eyes twinkling far too much for Loki’s comfort (or patience).

“ _What. Shame?_ ” He hissed, wondering briefly if he should summon one of his beloved daggers, no matter how much he might adore the flesh he’d be sinking it into.

Thor lifted his hand to cup Loki’s jaw, smiling mock-supportively.

“Being married to the most _ridiculous_ man in all the realms.” Thor’s smile went from teasing to _hungry_ in the space of a heartbeat, squelching Loki’s outrage before it could build, darting forward to mutter thickly against Loki’s lips. “You have _always_ belonged to me, and I to you -- from that first day upon the Bifrost, until Valhalla, _we_ belong to _each other_.”

“You unbearable _sap_ ,” Loki breathed against Thor’s lips before stiffening as a clear, commanding tone rang out behind them.

“Well then, an alliance with Jotunheim it is. Your mothers will be so pleased.” Odin smiled at them, that terrifying twinkle in his eye as he turned and sauntered smugly back towards the feast.

Swallowing, Loki bit his lip, watching as Odin disappeared from view.

“Do you think we should follow him? Is he announcing it? Us?”

Thor hummed contemplatively.

“No? But he’s probably telling my mother so they’ll both be smug and unbearable by the time he does announce it -- I think at midnight was the plan.”

They were each silent for a beat, and then Thor angled his head to press his lips to Loki’s ear, whispering throatily,

“I say we just stay here and kiss more until just before the announcement and _then_ go back through.”

Loki beamed approvingly, glad to see Thor hadn’t _really_ been dozing during their lessons on strategy all those years ago, as he reached up to tangle a hand back into his golden hair once more, steering Thor’s smiling lips back to his.

He kept his other hand fisted over his heart, squeezing tightly enough to imprint the outline of emerald slide into his skin, tangible proof that -- all the while Loki had been scheming to make sure that only _he_ would belong to Thor, once and for all -- it turned out, he always had.

**Fin.**

  
  



End file.
